


Where Would We Be Now

by lotusk



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Croissants yes they deserve their own tag don't look at me, Kyungsoo is a hardass, M/M, Paris in the summertime yes the city deserves its own tag go away, Past Relationship(s), Romance, Smoking, You can’t actually smoke in hotels in Paris but plot required it so pls forgive me, also just forgive me for all inaccuracies thanks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:06:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotusk/pseuds/lotusk
Summary: It's been ten years since Kyungsoo last saw Jongin. The last thing he expects is to see Jongin again and the last place he expects it to happen is Paris.





	Where Would We Be Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [at1stsoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/at1stsoo/gifts).



> For Lizzie, because I promised and because she convinced me that there are still people out there who would want to read my kaisoo. Thank you, Lizzie, for everything ❤
> 
> I want to send a huge thank you to everyone who held my hand during the writing of this fic and listened to me whine. But I want to thank Ali, Bunny, Amanda, Jiloo, Jenni, Yuku and Alaska especially for giving me many, many words of encouragement over the past months. And last but certainly not least, merci beaucoup to new friend Pixie who gave me an excellent crash course on croissants and the components of a quintessential Parisian breakfast ❤
> 
> And a shoutout to Good Charlotte's 'Where Would We Be Now', without which this fic would never have happened.

  
  


**_Summer, 2014 … Paris_ **

 

Kyungsoo peered at the title of the painting and said the words aloud... _ Broken Promises _ . Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, Kyungsoo stared at the indeterminate blob of colors, and tried his best to make some sense of it. But no matter how hard he tried, it stubbornly remained. . .a blob. Kyungsoo’s eyes flicked over the ocean of scarlet surrounding the canvas and he decided that the dramatic red of the gallery wall was more aesthetically pleasing than the actual painting. 

“I know a little something about art but. . .that looks like a blob. A colorful blob, but a blob nonetheless.” The man’s voice had a whiskey-like quality to it which was somehow familiar. Kyungsoo hadn't ever expected to hear an American accent in a Parisian gallery, let alone a voice that made him think of faraway things—things best forgotten, things best never recalled.

“I'm sure it's something horribly complex. Like a representation of human anger and frustration when promises are broken,” Kyungsoo said with a wry smile.

“Nah. It's just a blob,” the man said, the amusement in his voice tickling at the edges of Kyungsoo’s consciousness. “Do  _ you _ see anger and frustration?” 

“Nope. It's just a blob,” Kyungsoo chuckled as he continued to stare at the painting.

His eyes were on the canvas, but Kyungsoo was hopelessly distracted now. He was so curious to see the face that went with the throaty voice, but something held him back. It was almost like he preferred it if he never saw the person’s face. That way, he could just pretend the faceless stranger had warm, golden skin and straight, chestnut hair that was always just a little too long. Eyes dark as the night and just as mysterious; and a plush mouth that whispered promises long broken. 

It crept in without warning. One moment, Kyungsoo was trying to sneak a look at the stranger’s face, and the next, he was hit by a wave of intense pain as the memories came rushing in. Chest tight, he had to struggle to breathe normally. It had been years, so many years since this had last happened to him—so long since the weight of his heart had been too much to bear. It had to be that whiskey voice pulling long buried memories out of his heart’s black box. 

But why was a complete stranger’s voice wrecking him here in Paris? There was no way this could be Jongin after all. The realist in Kyungsoo knew this but his heart was a foolish thing that was still trying its best to pretend that Jongin was standing beside him. The last time he'd seen Jongin, ten years before, they'd been college seniors in Baltimore. Naive Kyungsoo and jaded Jongin. They’d been destined to fail right from the start, he thought bitterly. 

He wondered what he looked like now. Would he be broader in the shoulders? Would his face be wider and his jawline more prominent? More importantly, would he still be with—?

Without warning, his breathing stuttered, and Kyungsoo pulled at his collar—jerky, desperate motions that did nothing to alleviate the situation. Why couldn’t he breathe?

“Excuse me, but. . .do you need some air?” The man asked as he placed a concerned hand on Kyungsoo’s shoulder. His touch felt. . .vaguely familiar. 

“I. . .yeah, I think I do. I’m sorry, this doesn’t usually happen to me. It must be that damned blob. Too much for my simple brain to comprehend,” Kyungsoo said in a feeble attempt at humor.

“Well, I must confess, I don’t feel so good myself after staring at it for so long,” the stranger joked as he took Kyungsoo’s arm and steered him gently towards the exit. As they stepped closer to the gleaming glass doors, he heard a sharp intake of breath followed by a bewildered “Kyungsoo?” 

It couldn’t be. 

It couldn’t fucking be.

But of course it was. Who else could it be? No one else had a voice that rich and deep. No one else had a voice that could reduce his insides to ashes the way Jongin’s could.  

“It can’t be—” Kyungsoo’s voice sounded faint to his own ears and this was  _ not _ how he wanted their first meeting after a decade, to go. He was stronger than this and he would fucking  _ breathe _ if it killed him. 

“Let’s go outside,” Jongin said urgently, gripping his elbow.

“I’m fine. I don’t need to—” Kyungsoo argued but Jongin had already somehow guided him to the exit. He hadn’t even exerted any force. That was always how it had been with Jongin. For all his flaws, and there had been more than a few, Jongin had always been gentle. 

Kyungsoo had responded to it by following Jongin everywhere he led him—right up till the day Jongin led him down the path to heartbreak. But now, even after all these years, the pull of his touch was irresistible and Kyungsoo soon found himself seated on a wood bench, in front of the gallery.  

“Here, drink some of this.” Jongin said, offering him a bottle of mineral water.  _ Volvic _ , Kyungsoo noted in a detached way before gulping some of it down. At least his breathing had evened out, now that he was out in the mild sunshine and not-so-fresh air of Paris. 

“Can you breathe okay?” Jongin asked as he held Kyungsoo's right hand in a light grip before placing two fingers over his wrist. Was he checking for his pulse? Did he even know what he was doing?

“I'm fine.” Kyungsoo twisted his wrist out of Jongin's hold, and then there was an awkward silence as the two men sat stiffly beside each other—pried apart by years of estrangement.

"How are you, Soo?” Jongin asked at last. “God...This is so...weird. What do people even say to each other after ten years?" Jongin's fingers were curled around the back of his neck, elbow crooked at an angle. And for the first time Kyungsoo could remember, Kim Jongin looked unsure of himself.  

Nineteen year-old Jongin had been ready to take on the world; there wasn't a thing he hadn't believed he could not do. A reckless, alluring flame Kyungsoo had allowed to consume and singe him. This Jongin, the one in front of him now, seemed like a different creature altogether. 

"Nothing. I'm not sure I have anything to say to you," Kyungsoo answered in a dead voice. "Ever."

"I see some things haven't changed," Jongin said with a quiet smile. But Kyungsoo had no time for the man's goddamn smiles, or his handsome face which had lost every last shred of its former boyishness. And he absolutely had no time for the fact that twenty-nine year-old Jongin was far more devastating than his nineteen year-old self could ever have hoped to be.  

"What the hell does that even mean?" Kyungsoo snapped, his eyes crackling with irritation.

"You still say exactly what you think. It's one of the things I loved best about you," Jongin said, his smile and his intense, earnest gaze focused on him.

"Don't," Kyungsoo warned. "Don't even think about bringing up the past. Let's just leave that where it belongs. We're not old friends so there's no need to smile at me like we are. And there's no need to act like you didn't trample all over my heart with the shit you pulled.”

"You never let me explain, you know, about what you saw that day," Jongin said quietly.

"I meant it when I said  _ don't _ , you prick." Kyungsoo wanted to be calm and indifferent but his fists were clenching and unclenching. It took more willpower than he had, but he managed to calm himself. Gritting his teeth silently, Kyungsoo spread his palms out so they lay stranded on his thighs like two awkward starfish.

"There's not a day goes by I don't regret it." The warm smile was gone and Jongin’s expression was quiet as he watched Kyungsoo with careful eyes. 

"Sure. That's why you never called me all these years. You know where my parents live. It's not like you couldn't have asked them for my new number." Kyungsoo tossed the mineral water bottle from one hand to the other, refusing to even look at Jongin. Looking at him would be too dangerous. Drowning in Jongin's midnight eyes would be all too bloody easy.  

"I did ask your parents for your number—more than once. Your mom asked me to fuck off every single time. So did your friends. And you slammed the door in my face for weeks before semester ended."

"Well, of course I slammed the door in your face. You cheated on me. You made it clear you preferred sucking face with Oh Sehun to being with me." 

"That," Jongin sighed, his face full of rue. "What you saw...that was a mistake."

"He was sitting on your lap, with his tongue down your throat. In your apartment. That wasn't a mistake, Jongin. It was a fucking choice."

It had been a decade ago. A spring day. Kyungsoo still remembered it so clearly. The apple trees lining the avenue had been weighed down by clouds and clouds of watery pink petals and the air had been thick with the fragrance of apple blossoms. Kyungsoo had shown up unannounced at the tiny apartment Jongin shared with a Chinese grad student called Lu Han, and opened the door to betrayal. 

They had agreed to meet at  _ The Miramar _ at 8PM and buy tickets for...God, he couldn't even remember what movie it was anymore because obviously, they'd never watched it in the end. When Kyungsoo found out his 3pm Stats lecture had been cancelled, he’d seen no reason why he couldn't see Jongin earlier than 8pm. They could make out, have dinner together, then catch the movie at 8. It had taken him only three minutes to jog to the bus-stop, a smile lingering on the edges of his lips.

His heart had been beating so fast as he ran up the steps, two at a time. He could already smell Jongin's lime-scented shampoo, the remembered fragrance teasing Kyungsoo’s nostrils as he imagined Jongin’s teeth catching on his earlobe, imagined Jongin’s hands roaming over his back in slow, teasing circles. 

Kyungsoo's insides simmered as he imagined Jongin exhaling hot, tantalizing puffs of air into his ear, knowing how sensitive his ears were. He couldn't wait, he thought as he stuck the key into the lock. Jongin had given him a spare key three months after they started dating, and it had been a pleasant, solid weight in his pocket this past year. Turning the key, he'd pushed the door open, all excited. "My 3pm lecture got cancelled and I—"

And that's when he realized Jongin couldn't hear him. Jongin couldn't hear him because he was on the couch, with Oh Sehun's tongue down his throat. The Design major was sitting on Jongin’s lap, their long, beautiful bodies entwined. He supposed he should have been thankful they were still fully dressed but really, it was cold, cold comfort. 

His heart splintering into so many irreparable fragments, Kyungsoo had said, "We're done," in as dignified a voice as he could muster. Then, he had quietly left the apartment. He hadn’t stuck around to see the expressions of shock that must have settled on their features. 

“Soo! Wait, I can explain!” Jongin’s voice and footsteps clattered down the stairwell but Kyungsoo ignored them, running faster and faster down the stairs. 

“Soo! Please! It was a mistake!” Jongin sounded desperate as he closed in on Kyungsoo. He finally caught up with him at the foot of the stairs, grabbing Kyungsoo’s elbow to stop him from walking away.

“Let. Go.” Kyungsoo’s terse words echoed up the stairwell and Jongin’s fingers relaxed their grip.

“We were working on our assignment, the one I told you about. We were discussing what colors we were going to use for the piece and he was suddenly on my lap and…and then you walked in. It wasn’t my idea, I swear to God!”

“I don’t give a fuck whose idea it was. The fact is that it happened and we’re done.” Kyungsoo stared at the cracked mosaic tiles of the foyer, taking in the dull green and dirty white—looking everywhere but at his boyfriend’s face.

“I swear to you, Soo, it was an accident. Please, Soo, you have to believe me. You’re the one I want. Only you,” Jongin had begged. He had begged and begged and he’d even sounded like he meant it. It would have been so easy to give in to him, to forgive him. It would have been so much easier than ending things with him and God help Kyungsoo, he did not want to lose Jongin. But then he recalled the image of lanky Oh Sehun wrapped in Jongin’s arms and he knew he had to do the hard thing. Somehow he would find the strength.

“Soo, please,” Jongin reached for his hand but Kyungsoo stepped away. 

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” Kyungsoo spat out before turning on his heel and running out of the foyer and onto the sun-dappled sidewalk.

Hot, angry tears had only begun to roll down his face later, when he was sitting in the back of the bus. Ignoring the sting in his eyes and in his heart, Kyungsoo had stared out the window—seeing neither the cars passing nor the luscious pale pink blossoms lining the street.

  
  
  
  


“Soo, are you okay? Can you hear me?” Jongin’s voice gradually penetrated his troubled reverie.

“Just leave. Please.” Kyungsoo kept his eyes determinedly shut. He knew that seeing Jongin’s face up close would bring him nothing but a world of pain and trouble. He liked his quiet, uneventful life. A life free of entanglements, that was how he preferred it. If you could even call the Jongin-shaped gash in his heart an entanglement.  

“I just want to make sure you’re okay, that you get back to your hotel okay. You probably shouldn’t be wandering around Paris right now.” There was no mistaking the concern in Jongin’s voice but Kyungsoo hardened his heart to it. A life free of entanglements—this was the life he had and the life he would keep.  

“Fuck off. I don't need your help. I've done just fine without you for ten years.”  _ Liar _ .

“I just—” Jongin began to say but Kyungsoo cut him off ruthlessly. 

“Please leave. I don’t want to talk about old times or catch up on the past ten years. I just want you to go now. Please.” Kyungsoo felt tired. He felt so beyond tired but he braced himself for Jongin to persuade him to let him stay. To his surprise, Jongin didn’t beg like his nineteen year-old self had begged that awful spring day. People changed, he guessed.

“All right, I’ll go,” Jongin acceded, his voice subdued and edged with defeat. “Take care of yourself, Kyungsoo. And if you change your mind and need any help, just...you know, call me.”  

Something was pressed onto Kyungsoo’s palm, its corners too sharp against his skin. His eyelids flew open in protest but it was too late. Scores of Parisians and  tourists continued to stream past him, but of Kim Jongin, there was not a single trace. The only sign he’d ever even been here was the stiff, ivory rectangle that lay across Kyungsoo’s palm. He glanced at the minimalist business card: 

 

**KIM JONGIN**

**Assistant Creative Director**

 

_ EXO Graphics Studio _ ...why did that name sound so familiar? And that hexagonal logo…Kyungsoo frowned. He could have sworn he’d seen both the logo and the company name before. Kyungsoo’s gaze finally settled on the address printed at the bottom of the card and his gut clenched. Jongin was working in Baltimore? He’d always assumed Jongin had returned to his hometown after finishing his degree, not that anyone had ever told him so. His friends had known better than to ever mention Jongin in front of Kyungsoo after the breakup. 

It hadn’t been hard to avoid Jongin. They were in different faculties on different ends of campus and had no mutual friends, after all. Psych majors didn’t have much reason to cross paths with Graphic Design majors, or at least that was how it had seemed to Kyungsoo. Of course he’d caught glimpses of Jongin every now and then. The campus was big but it wasn’t  _ that _ big. So Kyungsoo had sometimes caught sight of Jongin in the library, the cafeteria, across the quad. Each and every time, Kyungsoo’s chest had felt tight and heavy and it had taken everything for him to not run up to Jongin. He had wanted so much to just forget his pride and hug Jongin—just hug him and say  _ let’s try again _ . But Kyungsoo was strong, so much stronger than he’d ever expected himself to be. His heart breaking all over again, Kyungsoo had turned on his heel each time and walked away.

He was still trying to come to grips with it, though, that they were both working in the same city—the same city where they’d first met, the same city where Kyungsoo had lived his whole life. Had Jongin been working in Baltimore all along? Or had he moved around and just happened to be working there for now? He still couldn’t believe it had taken ten whole years for him to finally encounter Kim Jongin again, and that it had happened in an art gallery in Paris of all the fucking places. The universe had to be playing some kind of cruel joke and Kyungsoo was not laughing. He was not laughing at all.

Damn that man. Damn him to hell for wrecking his day.

Kyungsoo got to his feet abruptly and strode towards the nearest trash can. He was about to drop the card with its too sharp corners into the bin where it belonged when he glimpsed a flash of teal blue ink. Hesitating, he turned the card over and held it out. There was a phone number scrawled across the ivory paper, and the word  _ please _ . The bold handwriting that Kyungsoo remembered so well was unsettling enough, but it was the teal blue ink that had him really shaken up.  

Years ago, Jongin had told Kyungsoo there was no color he despised more than teal blue. He’d had to do a project in his first year of college where he’d had to “make the most creative use of color possible”. He’d been assigned teal blue and had OD-ed on the shade in the worst kind of way. Like he hated it so much he never ever wanted to set eyes on anything teal-colored ever again. It had been raining outside and Kyungsoo and Jongin had been curled up together on the living room couch, listening to the raindrops ping softly against the glass. Musiq Soulchild had been playing softly in the background but between the rain and Jongin’s deep, whiskey voice, Kyungsoo wasn’t paying any attention to the music at all. Jongin had leaned in to kiss him, his soft lips brushing against his own.  _ I love you, Soo _ , Jongin had whispered against his neck as he nuzzled the skin there. Kyungsoo had moaned in response, all thoughts of teal blue and the rain and Musiq Soulchild dissolving into nothing but awareness of Jongin and his warmth and the sensual press of his lush mouth. 

It was only two days later, when Kyungsoo was browsing in the stationery section of the campus bookstore, that he remembered the conversation about how much Jongin hated teal blue. He had picked up a felt tip pen, marveling at the skinny, teal blue plastic body of the pen and its cover. The entire thing was teal blue except for the silver letters that spelt out  _ LePen _ .  Kyungsoo grinned. It was perfect. Jongin would hate this with a vengeance and that was precisely why Kyungsoo had had no choice but to get it for him. 

They were lying in bed that night when Kyungsoo had balanced the plastic pen on Jongin’s bare belly. Jongin had pretended to get mad that Kyungsoo had dared to buy him teal anything. But Kyungsoo knew better. He knew Jongin was secretly pleased that he’d even given him anything at all, teal or otherwise. 

“What am I supposed to do with this horrible thing?” Jongin had asked, glaring at him from his side of the bed.

“Draw stuff with it, duh,” Kyungsoo had chuckled,  leaving in to kiss him on the cheek.

“Draw stuff, huh?” Jongin’s eyes had a wicked gleam in them as he inched closer. “Anywhere I want?” he asked as his fingers trailed over Kyungsoo’s bare ribs.

“Within reason,” Kyungsoo said, gasping as Jongin’s thumbs hooked the waistband of his boxers. A few seconds later, his pants were in a crumpled heap on the floor while he lay on his side, nude and semi-erect. Jongin uncapped the pen slowly while Kyungsoo watched him with a mixture of apprehension and desire. “Why do you get to keep your pants on when I don’t get to keep mine on?” 

“Shhh, I need to concentrate,” Jongin said. “If we were both naked, we’d be fucking, not trying out my new pen.”

“Why do I have to be naked for you to try out your new pen?” Kyungsoo protested.

“Don’t move,” Jongin ordered just before Kyungsoo felt something wet glide over his left hip.

“Kim Jongin, what the hell!” 

“Teal blue actually looks quite good on you,” Jongin commented thoughtfully, a half smile on his lips.

“I can’t believe you’re using me as a fucking sketch pad,” Kyungsoo grumbled but all Jongin did was shush him as he continued to feather his skin with teal blue lines. Kyungsoo couldn’t see what Jongin was drawing on his hip but goddamn if he couldn’t feel every wet lick of the pen, and the solid weight of Jongin’s left hand on his waist. His body became more and more aroused with every carefully-placed stroke of ink. By the time Jongin announced that he was done, Kyungsoo’s cock was aching with want and so was Jongin’s if the tent in his pants was anything to go by. 

“What did you draw?” Kyungsoo asked, twisting so he could get a better view of the finished product. “A monkey, Jongin? Seriously? You couldn’t have drawn something more...well, sexy?”

Jongin gave him an unrepentant, lazy grin. “But it’s you. You were born in the year of the monkey, do you see? And you  _ are _ sexy, Soo. You don’t need any help from any edgy tattoo to be hot.”

“But it’s a monkey,” Kyungsoo whined, deeply disappointed even though the monkey was actually a cool, stylized line drawing which wasn’t even a little bit cutesey.

“It’s perfect.  _ You’re _ perfect. Every inch of you is perfect…right down to your perfect ass,” Jongin said, his voice both husky and tender as dragged his right palm slowly over Kyungsoo’s ass. Kyungsoo closed his eyes, drawing his breath sharply as his cock reacted to Jongin’s touch. Then Jongin’s mouth began tracing the curve of Kyungsoo’s ass.  _ Perfect _ , Jongin whispered just before his fingers wrapped around Kyungsoo’s cock and pumped it—slowly, sensually.

“You’re perfectly sexy, Doh Kyungsoo,” Jongin murmured against his skin as he palmed Kyungsoo’s cock with one hand and teased his nipples with the other. When Jongin finally pushed inside him, both of them moaned at the intimate contact. Their bodies surged and moved as one and it was easy, in that moment, for Kyungsoo to believe that his boyfriend found him sexy. 

“I want you so much,” Jongin had told him, in between rough moans, as he filled him up over and over again. When they had finally climaxed in each other’s arms, Jongin had told Kyungsoo that he would always love him and always want him; and God help him, Kyungsoo had believed him. Minutes later, they lay spooned together in Jongin’s single bed, with Kyungsoo’s arm draped around Jongin’s chest. Fighting to keep awake, Kyungsoo had nuzzled the back of Jongin’s neck before asking him in all earnestness, if he liked the color teal blue now.  

Jongin had chuckled at the unexpected question. “Fuck teal blue. I’ll never not hate that color.” 

Now, he apparently liked the color enough to go around Paris with a teal blue pen. So much for never not hating the color. But ten years was a long time. A person could change a lot in a decade, Kyungsoo pondered as he held the card over the bin once again. Hell, a person could even make themselves un-hate the color teal after ten years. 

But he’d delayed long enough. It was time to finally be rid of this entanglement—time to leave Jongin in the past where he belonged. His fingers refused to uncurl though, no matter how hard he tried to dump the card. Sighing in frustration, Kyungsoo jammed it into his back pocket and started walking across the courtyard.       

  
  
  
  


After a solitary al fresco meal at some random café on Avenue Mac-Mahon, Kyungsoo decided to head back to his hotel. Hopelessly distracted by his encounter with Jongin, Kyungsoo was not in the mood to explore the area or risk getting his pockets picked. He moved swiftly along the streets, anxious to get to the safety of his hotel room. But once he was actually there, he remained fidgety and restless, his mind going over and over the things Jongin had said to him that afternoon.  

_ I did ask your parents for your number—more than once. _

Had he tried to get Kyungsoo’s number? Had he really? Kyungsoo knew he should just drop the issue. After all, it wasn’t like he would ever see Jongin again. Yes, he really needed to drop the issue, Kyungsoo told himself firmly but he found himself reaching for his cell phone.  _ What are you doing, Doh Kyungsoo? You moron _ . 

“Hi, Mom.”

“Kyungsoo! How's Paris?” she greeted cheerfully. In the background, there were sounds of a vacuum cleaner being switched off.

“It's...full of surprises,” Kyungsoo admitted as he doodled on the hotel notepad.  _ He loves me. He loves me not _ . He'd covered half the page before he dropped the pen—horrified at what his fingers had done.

“You must tell me all about these surprises,” she insisted. There were sounds of liquid being poured into a cup and Kyungsoo knew she was probably getting some coffee before heading to her bay window and putting her feet up on her favorite ottoman. Kyungsoo loved the bay window in his parents’ home.

“Mom, I need to ask you something.”

“Ask away, son. You know I'll help if I can.”

Kyungsoo hesitated for a full five seconds before asking, “Do you remember Jongin?”

“Your loser of an ex who made you sad? Of course, I do,” his mom said, with some fire in her words. 

“Well, it's been a long time. I'm not sad about it anymore,” he lied.

“It’s been ten years. I’d be really upset if you were still pining for him. Anyway, why are you suddenly bringing up the past. The past should stay in the past, no?” There was curiosity in her voice and a mild touch of concern. 

“Did he ever call the house looking for me?” Kyungsoo both craved for, and feared the answer.

“Call the house? Ah, that boy. He didn’t just call the house. He showed up at my front door at least two to three times a week for two months after you guys split up. I told him to fuck off each and every time,” she announced with pride. 

“Why didn't you tell me?” Kyungsoo asked, the blood rushing in his ears at her words.

“You said you never wanted to see or talk to him again and I felt you were making the right decision. Telling you would just have made things...complicated. It would have made it so much harder for you to leave him behind.”

“Two months? Two to three times a week?” Kyungsoo felt more than a little faint at the revelation. Jongin had really been understating things. Asked his parents for his number  _ more than once _ , my ass.

“Pretty much. I shouldn’t have answered the door all those times he showed up but…I just couldn’t leave him standing out there. I don’t know; maybe a small part of me felt sorry for him. He seemed so determined to win you back. But why are you asking these questions now? All this happened ten years ago.”

“I just saw something this afternoon that reminded me of him,” Kyungsoo said hesitantly. His mom didn’t need to know that he had bumped into Kim Jongin in Paris. 

“What on earth did you see in Paris that could have made you think of that boy,” she clucked disapprovingly. 

“It was nothing, Mom. So, how are things at home? How’s Dad?” Fortunately for Kyungsoo, his mom had plenty of things happening on the home front she wanted to update him on, and no further mention was made of Kim Jongin. 

When he ended the call, his emotions were in turmoil. Jongin had been calling his home every day for two months? Why would he have bothered if he’d been dating Oh Sehun? Kyungsoo had given him a way out after all. It just didn’t make sense. Jongin hadn’t been a big believer of doing what was right. He had always done what he wanted. At least that had been his way when he was nineteen. 

God, this was turning out to be the most disturbing day ever. He needed to think, or rather, he needed to  _ not think _ . His heart was pounding this sick, too-fast rhythm and he needed to get some air before he had another panic attack. With shaky fingers, he unlatched the balcony door and stepped out onto the narrow strip of concrete. The hotel room was small and the attached balcony was ten times smaller; but it was wide enough for two people to stand on, side by side, if they wanted to take in the view or have a smoke. 

Kyungsoo took in long, deep lungfuls of air. After a few minutes of doing nothing but inhaling and exhaling, he felt calmer. More centered—enough that he could appreciate the stunning lights spread out before him, anyway. Only two more nights of this before he had to fly back to Baltimore. 

The Cognitive Psych conference at the Sorbonne had been informative and he would be able to bounce a lot of fresh ideas off of his undergrad students in the coming semester. Since the university was paying for his airfare and three days at the Hotel Cécilia, it had made economic sense to extend his stay a few days. It was his first time here and he would have regretted not exploring the city no matter how much he hated traveling alone. Too much could go wrong when you were on your own and Kyungsoo had never been one for taking risks. Jongin had been a risk he’d never planned on taking. Too bright and beautiful for someone as nondescript as him. 

Unbidden, he had a flashback of his nineteen year old self telling Jongin that they had to visit Paris together one day. How ironic that they had never had the chance to travel anywhere together and yet they had somehow ended up in Paris at the same time. What the fuck was this crazy coincidence supposed to be anyway? Some kind of bizarre message from the universe? What was he supposed to do? Listen to the message or ignore it?

Some relaxing holiday this was turning out to be, fuck his life. Upset all over again, he felt inside his front trouser pocket for his lighter and the slim pack of Gauloises he’d bought this afternoon. It was a bad habit. He really needed to quit…but when he got back to the States. Not just yet and definitely not tonight. Plumes of smoke curled and unfurled lazily through the warm night air, the sight distracting him from his current state of agitation. 

“Mind if I borrow a light?” a deep voice asked above the bustle of the traffic, startling Kyungsoo. 

His first thought was that he could have sworn he’d been alone out here. His second thought was that the guest next door sounded a lot like Jongin—the timbre, the accent, everything. But what were the chances of lightning striking twice in the same city and on the same day? There was just no fucking way. 

“You obviously got back to your hotel room okay but I hope you’re feeling better now. You looked so pale this afternoon,” Jongin said in careful tones and Kyungsoo’s stomach sank. 

He turned to his left. Jongin was standing on the balcony next door, only a few feet away with how closely packed everything was in this old building. Coincidences like this happened in rom-coms, not real life and God knew there was nothing remotely funny about this mess. Tersely, he asked Jongin if he was stalking him. 

“I’ve been here since Tuesday. You can ask reception if it will make you feel better. I’m just as surprised as you that we managed to somehow end up in the same city, let alone the same hotel. I swear.” He sounded and looked sincere and Kyungsoo hated that he believed Jongin was telling the truth. 

“This is bullshit,” Kyungsoo said bitterly as he took an angry drag of his cigarette. 

“You weren’t a smoker back then,” Jongin observed quietly. 

“I wasn’t a lot of things back then.”

“So are you going to share that light or not?”

Kyungsoo made an impatient noise before reaching inside his pants pocket for his Zippo. He offered Jongin the lighter without looking at him. He knew he was being petty but he honestly didn’t care. He reckoned he had earned the right. 

There was a metallic snick and a muted crackling before the scent of tobacco filled the air. Jongin hadn’t been a smoker either, ten years ago. Not that Kyungsoo was going to comment on that. He would rather die than give Jongin the satisfaction of knowing that he remembered anything about him, one way or the other. 

“So what brought you to Paris?” Jongin asked, sounding perfectly casual.

“A conference. For work.”

“Ah. I wish I could have had a work thing here too. Would have saved me a shit ton in air fare and accommodation.”

Kyungsoo didn’t want to keep the conversation going by asking Jongin questions but he just couldn’t stop himself apparently. “You’re on holiday with…some people?”

“Nah. It’s just me. I always travel alone. How about you? I mean…are you here alone or with…someone?” Jongin watched him curiously. 

Kyungsoo shrugged. “I don’t like traveling alone but I have to do it sometimes for work.” He doesn’t want Jongin to think he cares but Kyungsoo can’t help asking, anyway. “Why do you do that? Travel alone, I mean.”

“It’s just easier. I explore a city at my own pace and I see and do only the things that interest me.” Jongin stared into the distance as he exhaled a thin stream of white.

“That can’t be fun for your partner.”

“There’s no one,” Jongin said, turning to look at Kyungsoo. “I’m not seeing anyone.”

“Not even Oh Sehun?” It was hopelessly juvenile but Kyungsoo couldn’t resist the dig. 

“We never dated. I couldn’t even look at him after that afternoon. We finished the project, handed it in and I never spoke to him again. I didn’t cheat on you, Soo. You would know that if you’d just given me a chance to explain.”

“I know what I saw,” Kyungsoo retorted.

“You only saw the middle part. Not what came before and after.” Jongin looked both frustrated and hopeful and Kyungsoo turned away—training his eyes on the myriad, twinkling lights in the distance. 

“It was a long time ago, Jongin. It didn’t matter to me then what happened between you and Oh Sehun and it matters even less to me now.” The lies swirling in his gut, Kyungsoo exhaled and watched as the smoke from his Gauloise dispersed into the night.

“It matters to me. It always has,” Jongin said quietly, looking more than a little hurt. But the pain in Jongin’s eyes was probably just a figment of Kyungsoo’s imagination.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Kyungsoo said in a hard voice.

“Say you’ll spend the day with me tomorrow. No strings. Just a meal or two together. And I’ll buy you coffee and maybe a croissant? And we can explore the city. Just a couple of tourists exploring Paris together.” Jongin was watching him expectantly and Kyungsoo looked away, unsettled by the intensity of his gaze. He needed to stop wasting time and just tell Jongin the answer was no. But— 

_ Just a couple of tourists exploring Paris together _ .

Kyungsoo could do that. Couldn’t he?

“No strings?” he asked Jongin with as hard a stare as he could muster.

“No strings,” Jongin confirmed with a nod. “Consider it sightseeing, exploring a strange city together. No expectations. I promise.” 

“I don’t believe in promises,” Kyungsoo said gruffly.

“We should exchange phone numbers,” Jongin suggested. 

“I don’t see why we should.”

“In case one of us can’t make it or we get separated when we’re out together?”

There was no way Kyungsoo was going to admit that he already had Jongin’s phone number reluctantly committed to memory so he unlocked his phone, clicked on contacts and handed it over to Jongin. Jongin returned Kyungsoo’s phone once he had keyed in and saved his number. But when Jongin offered his cellphone to Kyungsoo for him to do the same, Kyungsoo refused.

“I have your number. That’s good enough.” He thought he detected hurt in Jongin’s eyes and gained some satisfaction from that. Karma for the pain Jongin had caused him that awful spring day, ten years ago, when the apple blossoms had filled the air with their heady, too-sweet fragrance. He’d almost tasted the bitterness on his tongue as he sat in the bus, blinking away the tears. He would not be stupid enough to open himself up to that kind of foolish pain again. Ever.

“Ok,” Jongin said at last. 

“I’m leaving the hotel at 9am, with or without you.”

“You’re still such a hard ass, Doh Kyungsoo. I’ll see you in the foyer at 9 am.” Jongin turned his head to hide his grin but Kyungsoo could see the lift in the corner of his mouth.  _ Smug asshole _ . 

Kyungsoo stubbed his cigarette out on the steel ashtray that lay on top of one of the planter boxes before saying in a voice empty of inflection, “9 am sharp.”

“9 am sharp,” he heard Jongin say as the sliding door slammed shut behind him.

  
  
  
  
  


Kyungsoo slept badly, plagued by dreams of Jongin writing  _ he loves me, he loves me not  _ all over his bare skin, dreams of Jongin’s arms wound tightly around him as they watched the rain coming down through the fogged up glass of Jongin’s apartment window. 

Sleep-deprived and pissed off at himself for dreaming of his ex, Kyungsoo was in a spectacularly foul mood when he entered the foyer at 8.59 am. He could have done with another two hours’ sleep and he cursed himself for not picking a later meeting time. It was probably for the best though, that he had chosen 9 am, for Jongin would surely still be unconscious. He hadn’t been a morning person when they’d dated, often unable to function properly before noon. Meanwhile Kyungsoo would have been up and moving by 8 am most days. They really had been total opposites in just about every possible way. Whatever had made Kyungsoo think they could work together?  

“’Morning, Soo,” Jongin’s husky voice greeted him from behind a champagne and celadon striped winged chair.  

Kyungsoo scrunched his face in frustration as Jongin straightened to his full height.  _ Damnit _ . He might as well have asked Jongin to meet him at 10 am and gotten an extra two hours of sleep. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s 9 am. You can’t be up.”

“Nice to see you too. You look like you need coffee.” 

Kyungsoo refused to look at the horrible man’s face but he could totally hear the amusement in Jongin’s deep voice. His deep voice that sounded very much awake. This was definitely not the grouchy-bear-before-noon Jongin he remembered.

“Fuck off.”

“Café au lait it is then. Come on, I know a place nearby. It’s directly across from the Arc de Triomphe.”  

Before Kyungsoo even had a chance to protest, they were both out on the pavement and walking down Avenue Mac Mahon. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


True to his word, Jongin bought Kyungsoo the coffee and croissant he had promised the night before. But to his surprise, the server also placed two glasses of orange juice, bread, and pain au chocolat on their small table. When Kyungsoo protested that he couldn’t possibly finish everything, the tow-haired young man had explained in fluent, accented English that the items came with the breakfast menu.

“But I didn’t ask for the breakfast menu,” Kyungsoo pointed out.

“That was my fault. I thought it would be nice to try a proper French breakfast,” Jongin explained in a tentative voice. Belatedly, Kyungsoo recalled that Jongin had indeed said a few French words to the server earlier on, just before the young man left with their order. Kyungsoo hadn’t understood the exchange but he’d been too proud to ask what it all meant. When had Jongin even learnt to speak French? Did he only know a few phrases or could he converse in French? Could he read it? Write it? So many questions Kyungsoo would never have the answers to.

“It was supposed to be just coffee and croissants,” Kyungsoo grumbled, disgruntled that Jongin was paying for more than coffee and croissants. It made Kyungsoo feel beholden to him and he hated that.

“Just have the coffee and the croissants. I’m sorry, Soo. I should have asked. It was selfish of me. I’m starving so just a croissant isn’t going to do it for me right now. I didn’t want to be the only one still eating when you were finished with your croissant so I ordered a breakfast set for you too.” 

“You can’t just do what you want without asking,” Kyungsoo complained but he was more annoyed at himself than at Jongin if he was being honest with himself. Why wasn’t he more upset with Jongin for being presumptuous?

“You’re absolutely right. I won’t do it again, Soo. I promise.” Jongin clasped his hands together as if in prayer, pressing the tips of his index fingers against his lips. It was something Jongin had done often, back when they’d dated—a gesture that nineteen-year old Kyungsoo had found hopelessly adorable. But seeing it now didn’t make him smile; it only made him ache, somewhere deep inside his chest. Or maybe…maybe he was just hungry. 

“No need for promises. There will be no  _ again _ because this is the last time we’ll be having breakfast together,” Kyungsoo said with a note of finality as he stared intently at the delicate whorls of milk that formed a fat heart on the surface of his café au lait. A heart of all the fucking things, he observed bitterly. He waited for Jongin to argue, to plead, to change his mind; but all Jongin did was sip his coffee, a thoughtful expression on his handsome face. Disappointment curled in his gut as he took a bite of the flaky, buttery croissant that suddenly tasted like ashes in his mouth.

 

  
  
  
  


After the strained atmosphere at breakfast, it was a relief to be out in the open, walking among strangers who knew nothing of Kyungsoo or his fractured past with Jongin. They spent more than an hour at the Louvre, wandering through the massive complex side by side as they checked out the exhibits and talked about them. As the tension that had formed between them at the café began to dissipate, Kyungsoo found himself relaxing more and more in Jongin’s company. With his college background in Art History, Jongin was able to feed Kyungsoo with interesting and sometimes scandalous facts about some of the art pieces they encountered along the way. Kyungsoo knew that exploring the Louvre on his own would have been a far less enjoyable affair and the realization piqued him no end.   

After the Louvre, they bought tickets for a hop-on, hop-off bus.  Their thighs and shoulders jostled against each other as they sat side-by-side on the top deck of the bus and Kyungsoo couldn’t help remembering how they used to sit close together and hold hands on buses and trains. Kyungsoo had been self-conscious at first of the open stares from certain passengers, but Jongin’s self-confidence and complete lack of interest in what others thought of him had soon rubbed off on him. Kyungsoo soon learnt to ignore the scrutiny of others and that was something which had thankfully survived the demise of their relationship. Now, here they sat, on a bus in Paris—so close and yet so insurmountably distant from each other. Kyungsoo’s chest was beginning to sting again and he quickly shut out thoughts of the past.  

Eventually, they got off at the Eiffel Tower. Balking at the insanely long queue for the elevator, Jongin suggested that they make the climb up the Eiffel Tower. Seven hundred and four steps later, they stood beside each other on the second viewing platform, panting and triumphant. Hands gripping the safety rail, they gazed out silently at the breathtaking view of Paris, and Kyungsoo pretended not to remember that their nineteen year-old selves had dreamt of coming here with each other one day. 

  
  
  
  


They were wandering along a narrow lane of souvenir shops near the Notre-Dame Cathedral when the rain began to fall in hard, bruising drops. Jongin grabbed Kyungsoo’s hand and pulled him into the nearest store. Kyungsoo let it happen, his skin on fire as his palm and fingers came into contact with Jongin’s so unexpectedly. He had missed Jongin’s touch, the weight and the warmth of it. He had missed it so fucking much. But once they were inside the confines of the shop, Kyungsoo disentangled his fingers from Jongin’s grip. His hand felt empty and abandoned all of a sudden but there was nothing to be done about it. There would be no Jongin after today to drag him through the falling rain and the sooner he accepted that, the better.

In the background, some French song was playing. A mellow kind of rock song from what Kyungsoo could tell. They had stumbled their way into a record store with a vintage feel about it. They sold nothing but vinyls apparently—no CDs in this establishment. Who knew you could find a store like this near Notre-Dame?

Jongin brushed beads of water off of his hair before drying his palms on his rain-splattered jeans. A simple gesture but Kyungsoo couldn’t keep his eyes off the tall man before him. Why was this damn store so small? Thank God there were no other customers in the store and the cashier was too engrossed in his phone to pay any attention to them. Kyungsoo would have felt even more conscious of how closely he was standing to Jongin if there had been more people around. He was about to take a few steps backward to increase the gap between them when Jongin’s fingertips skated across his forehead. He flinched at the unexpected sensation and Jongin’s hand dropped back to his side.

“Sorry. Some of the rain got on your forehead and I just…I’m sorry, Soo. I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve just missed you and I still can’t believe you’re actually here and I wasn’t thinking.” 

“You can’t, I—” Kyungsoo gripped the back of his neck in frustration, “We can’t do this. Things ended between us a long time ago and that’s just how it is.” 

“Maybe they ended for you.” Jongin’s voice was subdued, his eyes trained on the floor as his fingers played with the belt loops of his jeans. 

“It’s been ten years,” Kyungsoo announced unnecessarily.

“You think I don’t know that?” Jongin laughed—a sad empty sound that made tendrils of guilt rise in Kyungsoo’s gut. 

“I’ve moved on. You should too.” Kyungsoo kept his gaze focused on the cracked mosaic of the shop floor.

“I tried doing the dating thing but it didn’t go so well. It was just easier after a while, to be on my own.”

“How long?” Kyungsoo asked before he could stop himself. What was he doing, for fuck’s sake?

“How long what?” Jongin asked, frowning slightly.

“How long have you been on your own?” 

Jongin shrugged. “Six years or so, I guess.”

“Six years?!” Kyungsoo repeated incredulously. He hadn’t lived with anyone for two years and that had already felt like half a lifetime. Kyungsoo liked to think he was fiercely independent and that he liked having lots of time and space for himself; but the truth was that he liked having someone to lean on, someone to split the bills with, someone to warm his bed. He just liked having  _ someone _ . He’d had a few boyfriends in the eight years following the break-up but none of them had ever made his heart soar and sing the way Jongin had done. He had been able to walk away from those relationships with his heart intact; there had been none of the soul-searing pain and emotional hemorrhaging he’d had to live with for months after leaving Jongin. He never wanted to go through that kind of agony again. 

The voice inside his head taunted him,  _ who says you aren’t still going through it, you coward? _

“Soo? Are you okay?” Jongin was watching him with a worried expression.

“I’m sorry. I got distracted. What were you saying?” 

“I said it gets lonely sometimes but I manage.” 

“Do you live on your own or do you have a roommate?” Why was he asking Jongin all these questions? Why did he even care? He needed to end this conversation; what the fuck was he doing?!

“I have a one bedroom apartment about twenty minutes’ walk from work. I live alone so no, no roommate.”

“Not even the occasional sleepover?” Kyungsoo eyed him skeptically.

“I’ve had a few one-night stands, I guess. But very few. I don’t think you understand, Soo. I couldn’t even think about seeing anyone after we broke up. So I didn’t. Not for two years. After that, I dated a few people but things never felt  _ right _ , you know? So I kind of drifted in and out of relationships for a couple years and then I just went what the fuck am I doing and quit the whole relationship thing. I knew it was never going to work—not when I still wasn’t over you.”

Kyungsoo frowned. “So you’re saying you haven’t had a relationship with anyone for six years because you’re still hung up on me? You expect me to believe that? You must be joking.” 

“I wish I were. My life would have been a lot easier if I weren’t still hung up on you.”

“Why did you cheat on me then? If I was so important to you, why did you suck face with Oh Sehun when you were supposed to be my boyfriend?”

“I didn’t, I swear. We were literally discussing which colors to use and then he climbed onto my lap and just started kissing me. And you walked in at the same time. He must have heard the key turn and decided to just go for it. I mean he’d been flirting with me for weeks even though I made it clear I wasn’t interested. I guess he knew you’d get mad and dump me and he was right.” Jongin sounded bitter for the first time since they’d met up again yesterday.

“It looked really bad, Jongin. Of course I was going to dump your cheating ass,” Kyungsoo said defensively.

“Fuck you. I didn’t cheat on you! Why didn’t you trust that you were all I ever wanted and needed? Why did you just throw us away?” Jongin hadn’t raised his voice much but he looked really angry now. 

“You were kissing someone who wasn’t me. What else was I supposed to do?” he growled back.  _ Oh God _ , he was causing a scene with his ex in a record store in Paris. He could not believe himself—they were going to get thrown out on their asses once the kid realized they were fighting on his premises.  Worriedly, Kyungsoo glanced over at the cashier but the thin, bespectacled young man was still mesmerized by his phone, his thumbs moving rapidly over the screen. 

“You could have given me a chance to explain. You could have trusted that I would never hurt you that way. You were all I wanted then and God knows why but you’re still all I want now.” Jongin dragged his hand through his hair in frustration.   

Hands numb and trembly, Kyungsoo asked, “Why did you stop then? Why did you stop asking my mom for my phone number if you were so desperate to get me back?”

“Because I saw you at the cinema with some dude. You were holding hands and you looked happy and…you looked happy, okay? You looked happy and you were holding hands and that’s when I knew it was time to accept that you’d moved on. I knew I had to stop hoping, and I knew I had to stop bothering your mom because you would never have listened to anything I had to say, anyway. So I stopped going to your mom’s house and I’ve tried not to think of you every fucking day since.” Jongin grimaced, “ _ Tried _ , anyway.”  

“I—” Kyungsoo knew who Jongin had seen him with. Byun Baekhyun. He’d been a Psychology major like Kyungsoo and he’d had such a gift for making him laugh. It had made him forget for a while how much it hurt to not be with Jongin anymore. It had been enough for Kyungsoo. For three months at least. But then he’d broken things off with Baekhyun because whenever they’d kissed or made out or even just hung out, it was Jongin he had on his mind, not Byun Baekhyun.  

“What? What is it?” Jongin asked , his tone challenging as his eyes flashed with an odd mixture of anger, helplessness and hope.  

“How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know you’ve even thought of me once in the last ten years?” Kyungsoo felt like he was standing on shifting sands. His feelings had been locked away for so long and he was suddenly tired of it all. He was so damn tired of fighting his feelings. So fucking tired. 

When Kyungsoo looked up, it was to see Jongin reaching inside his black leather backpack. His movements were sure, like he knew exactly what he was looking for and when his hand emerged again, there was a skinny, teal blue pen gripped between his thumb and index finger. Solemnly, Jongin handed it over to Kyungsoo who took it with slightly shaky fingers. His brain was telling him it couldn’t be the same teal blue pen he’d given Jongin ten years ago but he could see the rows of little puncture marks he’d left on the barrel that time he’d borrowed the pen to transcribe his lecture notes. He’d been the pen chewer, not Jongin. Never Jongin. He had always been the one to gently remove pens from the clutches of Kyungsoo’s mouth, complaining that it was an unhygienic as fuck thing to do and could he stop chewing on things that weren’t food before he cracked an actual tooth.

“I still hate teal blue, you know? But I can’t seem to stop carrying this damn thing around,” Jongin admitted, his lips forming a sad little half-smile.

“You should have thrown it out when I left,” Kyungsoo said as he held the felt pen in his hands, fingertips tracing the coarse scars he’d made on the plastic barrel all those years ago.   

Jongin gave a bitter laugh. “You think I didn’t try?” 

“I’ll do it for you,” Kyungsoo said, his fingers curling around the pen.

“No!” Jongin protested, wrapping both his hands around Kyungsoo’s before he could throw the pen away for real. Jongin’s grip was strong and familiar and so achingly welcome. 

“I still don’t understand why you’ve still got this dumb pen I gave you when we were kids.”

“Jesus. I keep it with me because you gave it to me. You still don’t get it? I never got over you, Soo. That’s why I still carry that pen and a photo of us in my wallet,” Jongin said as he continued to hold on to Kyungsoo’s hand.  _ Don’t ever let go _ , the traitorous voice in his head whispered. 

“I don’t believe you,” Kyungsoo argued but there wasn’t much fight left in his voice.   

Sighing, Jongin let go off Kyungsoo’s hand before digging into his back pocket. A few seconds later, he handed a scuffed brown leather wallet to Kyungsoo.  “See for yourself.”

With trembling hands, Kyungsoo opened up the trifold wallet and there, in the ID window was a faded old photograph of them—one they’d taken in a photo booth in some mall. He couldn’t even remember which mall it had been. Kyungsoo had wanted a picture of them with the Eiffel Tower in the background and Jongin had gone along with it even though he’d hated taking photos almost as much as he’d hated teal blue. Kyungsoo had thrown out all his photos of Jongin, erased all traces of him from his life, but here was a photo of them that Jongin had kept all these years. A photo of the two of them in love: a smiling Kyungsoo sitting on Jongin’s lap and Jongin nuzzling his neck. 

Kyungsoo’s fingertip glided slowly over the smooth plastic, too shocked to feel or say anything. They had been so young and carefree and so completely and unapologetically in love. How had things fallen apart so badly? With a pang, Kyungsoo regretted that they hadn’t taken a photo together when they’d been at the Eiffel Tower for real. 

“I threw mine away,” he said at last, unable to move from the spot where he stood, the wallet still lying open in his hand.

“I tried to throw out all our photos and little things you’d given me…after I saw you with that guy at the cinema. I put them all in a shoebox. Isn’t it funny how you can fit a whole year of memories into one shoebox? Anyway, I got as far as my bedroom door and I tried to turn the knob but I just couldn’t, you know? So I stuck the box under my bed instead and slipped this photo of us back into my wallet and started carrying that damn pen around. I’ve tried to throw them away a few times. Like, every time I started a new relationship or changed wallets I tried throwing out the photo and pen but I don’t know, I just couldn’t seem to cut loose. And maybe I just didn’t want to, you know? When I saw you in that gallery yesterday—” Jongin’s words trailed off like he couldn’t put his thoughts into words.  

“I was shocked too, I guess,” Kyungsoo said as he handed the wallet back to Jongin.

“I wasn’t shocked, Soo. Well, maybe for about two seconds because you were the last person I expected to see there. But mostly…mostly I was happy and hopeful and also terrified that you would tell me to fuck off again.”

“I  _ did _ tell you to fuck off again,” Kyungsoo pointed out. His voice was empty of emotion but his heart…God his heart felt so tight and full right now he could barely breathe.  

“But we’re here now and please, Soo, let’s just—can’t we start over? I swear I never cheated on you but you know what? It doesn’t matter anymore whether you believe me or not. Just say that we can…I don’t know, get to know each other again. No strings, I promise.” Jongin took Kyungsoo’s hands in his but his grip was tentative, almost as if he expected Kyungsoo to pull away any moment. Kyungsoo knew he should break Jongin’s hold on him but he couldn’t seem to move, nor did he want to. 

“Can I help you?” The cashier’s voice cut into their thoughts as the astoundingly unattentive man finally noticed that there were two tourists in his store.

“We were just leaving,” Kyungsoo replied. Without warning, he started walking to the exit with Jongin in tow. The palm of his left hand was pressed against the glass, pushing the door outward when a new song started to play. The haunting piano notes began to fill the store and to fill all the empty spaces in Kyungsoo’s heart. He closed his eyes.  _ Oh God, not this song _ . It was their song. He couldn’t even remember anymore how it had become their song; he just knew that it was.

“I’m sorry but you can’t stand in the doorway like that,” the cashier piped up, sounding a little annoyed as the sultry summer heat started pouring into the store.  Joel Madden’s voice was drifting out of the speakers when Kyungsoo finally stepped out onto the cobblestones, his hand still joined to Jongin’s. He wanted so much to ask Jongin if he remembered the song; he wanted so much to ask Jongin if he remembered that this was  _ their song _ . Kyungsoo wanted...so many things, he thought, as wild emotion swirled and eddied inside him. He needed everything to stop but he didn’t know how to make that happen, God help him.

“Soo,” Jongin said in a quiet, urgent voice as he turned Kyungsoo around so they faced each other. It was too much. Jongin was too much. His beautiful face that looked both sad and hopeful, and the warm press of his hands on Kyungsoo’s shoulders. It was all too much and Kyungsoo was feeling too much now that Jongin was finally in front of him after ten long years. Jongin squeezed his shoulders gently. “Do you remember that song?”    

“I...yeah, I guess I do.”

“It was playing the first time we kissed.” Jongin’s eyes were full of longing and Kyungsoo couldn’t help but respond to it by stepping a little closer to him. Kyungsoo had no idea what he was doing but his body had stopped listening to him back at the record store. 

“I can’t do this—” Kyungsoo said helplessly.

“Can’t do what?”

“I can’t pretend anymore, Jongin.” Kyungsoo lowered his head so his forehead rested on Jongin’s chest. It had been so long since he’d been able to do this and he let out a silent sigh as Jongin’s arms wrapped tightly around him. Jongin smelled of faded cologne and promises. Kyungsoo still wasn’t a fan of promises but he recalled the faded photograph and the teal blue pen and decided that maybe Jongin’s promises wouldn’t necessarily be broken ones. 

It took a few seconds but they soon found themselves in the narrow alley beside the record store. A door opened and they could hear the strains of their song as Jongin's arms pulled him in close. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jongin moaned as his mouth covered Kyungsoo’s—hungry and hot and oh so desperate.  _ Soo...Soo _ , he whispered between kisses like his heart was breaking or soaring, Kyungsoo couldn't even tell. All he could tell right now was that his heart wasn’t breaking for the first time in ten years. And all he could tell was that he didn’t want to spend another ten years without Jongin. That was all that mattered now. Everything else could wait.

“I’ve missed you too, Jongin. So much.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you made it to the end, thank you for giving this fic a chance. I started writing this fic four and a half years ago and I was pretty sure I was never going to finish it so the fact that I did just makes me so happy. Life has been throwing me a lot of curve balls in the past year and I haven't had much energy or headspace to write. It's been 15 months since I posted a complete fic so it was really important to me that I finished writing this story--the ending may feel a bit abrupt but I kind of wanted it to end on that kind of note. I wish I could have done a better job with this but really, just finishing it at all is a minor miracle with how things have been going with real life lately. I wasn't able to write much at all this year but I worked really hard on this and I hope some people will appreciate the effort. 
> 
> Anyway, I hope you liked this story at least a little and kudos and comments go a long way to healing a writer's heart. Come talk to me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/glitterlatte) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/lotusk).


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